


Welcome to the Feywild

by literalfuckinggarbage



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Caleb Widogast's Backstory, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Caleb Widogast, Polyamory, Self-Loathing Caleb Widogast, Slow Burn, The Feywild, Trent Ikithon Bashing, as a treat, caleb can have two purple datemates, i'm gonna write a fic that's so self indulgent, no beta we die like men, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalfuckinggarbage/pseuds/literalfuckinggarbage
Summary: When Bren murdered his parents, he broke.When he found out that they were never traitors, something deep within him, something primal and arcane, snapped like an overstrung violin string, sharp, dissonant, and echoing throughout his body in strange vibrations.One moment he was curled up on the cold tile floor of the Vergesson Sanatorium, the next Bren was in a strange field of what might have been wheat, flowing in the light breeze. After telling a strange purple satyr a fake name, he became Caleb Widogast and was thrust into a world heavy with magic, full of fae, and enough support to start to overcome his past.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 84
Kudos: 128





	1. Awaken

**Author's Note:**

> Playing fast and loose with the rules of magic!! Most D&D 5e rules still apply, except under extreme circumstances (I'm also messing with some of the magical items... don't mind me...).
> 
> Humans are the only race on the material plane and magic is extremely rare! All magical/fantasy races are native to the feywild or other fantastical planes, and crossover is very rare. Crossover of magical creatures into the material plane is extremely limited and kept to short visits. I'm organizing the Feywild like the Summer and Winter Courts, and taking fae lore from wherever it pleases me. (Also I refuse to spell fey consistently, so that's something...)
> 
> Finally, this is going to be my first time posting smut, and my first time writing polyamory so please be kind <3

The old woman released his cheeks, letting Bren Aldric Ermendrud sink to his knees. He could remember everything now; he knew his parents had been innocents. Never in their lives did Leofric and Una Ermendrud plot against the Empire; they probably had never had a treasonous thought in their heads. They were innocents and he had murdered them.

When Bren murdered his parents, he broke.

When he found out that they were never traitors, something deep within him, something primal and arcane, snapped like an overstrung violin string, sharp, dissonant, and echoing throughout his body in strange vibrations.

One moment he was curled up on the cold tile floor of the Vergesson Sanatorium, the next Bren was in a strange field of what might have been wheat, flowing in the light breeze. If he was in any control of his faculties, Bren might have noticed that the strange wheat-like plant was ever so slightly pink and shimmering, and the deep golden butterflies and moths that flitted to and fro among the sparse wildflowers in the field belonged to species he’d never seen before. He might have noticed that the colors were a little too garish to be believed, and the weather was far nicer than any blustery day in the Empire during the rainy season. He might have noticed that the Empire didn’t ever smell quite so sweet, or look half as beautiful.

Instead he made his indent in the grassy plain, curled around himself and stared up at the sky, trying to see the impossibly blue expanse and puffy clouds rather than the flames that licked and burned around his vision. Trying to smell the flowers instead of the smoke that was slowly suffocating him. Trying to taste something, anything other than ash.

Bren didn’t know how long he laid there, practically catatonic, trying to catch his heaving breath. Normally he knew exactly what time of day it was at any moment. Now, he knew nothing, could barely tell what direction north was, and everything was unfamiliar and not the least bit grounding. He floated in this state, untethered and lost until he heard footsteps over the screaming in his ears.

Having something to focus on other than the screaming memory of his parents, Bren strained his ears, trying to ground himself, to find a tether, to at least stop hyperventilating.

“Well, hello there.”

A person peered down at him, curling purple horns protruding from each side of his head, all shaded in dark purples, emphasized by his lighter lavender skin and deep maroon embroidered tunic. From where Bren laid on the ground he could see the hooves. A satyr.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen someone more in need of a good time in my entire life,” he said, a light accent that Bren couldn’t place apparent in his voice. The satyr grinned at him and extended a hand.

Bren wanted to take it. Even if he didn’t trust this fae creature, he wanted to take his hand just to have something to hold on to. But he wasn’t sure he could move.

“You alright, friend?” The purple satyr moved closer, tipping Bren’s cheek to the side so they were able to see each other properly. 

Stiffly, and with very little real conviction, Bren nodded, attempting to find his voice. “Ja,” he managed to mumble. He could see a strange winding peacock tattoo that stretched over the satyr’s cheek.

“Wonderful!” The satyr hoisted Bren up with a broad grin, surprising him with the sudden movement and almost sending him toppling over. “I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf, but Molly to my friends, and we’re friends, now, aren’t we?”

Bren stared at the strange satyr, who he was surprised to find almost matched his height. He had seemed to tower over Bren when he was on the ground, and his presence was still relatively domineering, despite only being a few inches taller than the human. Now that Bren was standing and not in danger of falling over, he could see more of the tattoos swirling down Mollymauk’s arm and up his neck. It looked like they continued across his chest, underneath the sleeveless maroon tunic that was covered in a positively obscene amount of colorful embroidery.

“It seems I still don’t know your name, friend,” the satyr said, continuing to hold Bren by the shoulders.

He swallowed. Though he knew less than he would like about fey creatures beyond his familiar, Frumpkin, and even less about what strange magical effect he had just accomplished, he knew not to give his true name. “Caleb Widogast,” he said, hoping he hadn’t hesitated too long.

“Mr. Widogast, or can I call you Caleb?” he asked quickly, to which Bren nodded, “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caleb.” The satyr beamed down at him, despite meeting somewhere in the middle of formality and familiarity. He moved his hands from Bren’s shoulders and instead grasped both Bren’s hands and shook them enthusiastically.

Bren looked around, his heartbeat finally beginning to slow. He had absolutely no idea how he had ended up here, but he had a strong suspicion as to where he’d arrived.

"Oh, did you drop this?" Mollymauk asked, letting Caleb go to lift up a simple silver necklace in his hands. The warding necklace. The only thing keeping Ikithon from finding him.

Panic grabbed hold of Bren’s heart, speeding it near to the point of fainting. Without Mollymauk’s steadying touch, he was in real danger of collapsing again. Bren wasn’t strong enough to take it back from the satyr if he wanted to keep it for himself. "Please… please give it back."

He couldn't go back there. He could never go back there.

"Right, of course." Molly only grinned, having no inclination to take the magic object for himself. Instead he slipped it back around Bren's neck, setting the clasp into place. More panic surged through Bren as the satyr wrapped his arms around his neck and shoulders to do so, and he worried he was going to be choked. "Better?"

He nodded in answer, unsure if his voice would be steady and just stared at the satyr. What did the strange creature want from him?

“I take it you’re not from around here,” the purple satyr said. Bren confirmed the statement with a shake of his head.

Mollymauk beamed at him, “Welcome to the Feywild.”

Bren’s stomach sank as his worst suspicions were confirmed. “I… thank you. I don’t suppose you brought me here?” he asked, though he knew it couldn’t be that easy.

A little crease appeared in Mollymauk’s brow, “Now why would you ask that?”

“That wasn’t a no,” Bren said softly.

“I didn’t, no. Did you not mean to arrive here?”

Bren looked at the strange field he was in. “Not particularly, no.”

“So you have no idea how you got here?” Mollymauk said, looking around the field himself.

“Not really,” Bren said. He had his suspicions, sure, but those were ones he was going to keep to himself. There was no need for this strange satyr to know how magically inclined he was. For all he knew all the kindness would disappear and he would be back under someone’s thumb.

Flashes of an older man looking down on him with disdain and disinterest, scalpel incisions and green pulsing crystals inserted into his flesh almost incapacitated Bren again.

But he wasn’t Bren anymore. Not here.

Bren had died in that fire, eleven years ago.

It was time to be Caleb Widogast.

“Caleb?” the satyr asked, as if to punctuate his point.

He blinked, scratching his bandaged arm absentmindedly, “Ja?”

“You alright?”

Caleb took a deep breath, nodding his head in the hopes that the gesture would be an easier deception than an outright lie. 

"I take it you don't know what that thing is either then." Mollymauk pointed at a strange pulsating dodecahedron. It was gray and dull, but vibrating with energy, with light.

Caleb looked at the thing with a frown, feeling an urge to keep it with him. Keep it safe. He would look at it later, but he seemed to recall snippets of memory about this strange object. People in the Sanatorium whispered about this thing, when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

This was important. He could use this.

Bending down he grabbed the handles, holding it carefully to his chest and ignoring how his hands still trembled. “I brought it with me. I think,” he said, unsure if he should really give up that information but still wanting to muse about the predicament out loud. It’d been so long since someone had even bothered to pretend to be kind to him.

Not that he deserved it.

“Oh. Okay…” The satyr blinked at him, looking at him like he expected more of an explanation.

Caleb stared down into the strange dodecahedron. He wanted to be alone with it, but didn’t know how he would react on his own right now. The catatonic state he’d been found in was far too weak. “Do you know how to get back to the material plane?”

“Not a clue. You got someone waiting for you back there? Need to get home?” Mollymauk cocked his head, smiling softly at him.

Someone waiting for him. What a joke. Even Astrid and Wulf had abandoned him when he broke.

A home…

There was brimstone in his nose again, flames curling around the corners of his vision. Flames that licked the wooden support beams of his home, destroying all in their path. He felt his knees give out as he sank back down into the strange pink plants, making more of a strange indent as he crushed them down to their roots.

But he couldn’t see the plants anymore. He could only see the house, a wagon pressed up against the only door of the wooden building. The wonderful, small home his parents had raised him in. The home he learned how to read in. 

The home he learned how to summon fire in.

Screaming.

His parents, screaming.

He had murdered his parents, and they hadn’t had a treasonous thought in their lives. Caleb was more of a criminal than they ever would be. Now they didn’t have a chance to be anything ever again.

Deep down, Caleb knew that he needed to be more present. He wasn’t alone, and he needed to be alert, on guard. But he couldn’t stop hearing the screaming.

It wouldn’t stop, no matter what he did.

Strange pressure applied itself to Caleb’s back and legs, and the grass stopped pressing into him. It was completely foreign and he tried to place the source of the pressure. And then he was moving.

The fire still burned in his eyes, but he was moving, not too fast, not too slow. After a while he registered that he was being carried. That this wasn’t safe. That someone had picked him up as easily as a sack of potatoes and he needed to thrash, to lash out, to run. Even if he was a monster, he was a monster who belonged to no one.

Around them the pink wheat swayed, rippling in a strange, tropically warm breeze that was unlike anything Caleb had ever felt, even in the heat of summer in the Zemni fields. His brain twisted the beautiful summer breeze into a puff of hot air, something shattering the window of his childhood home and sending a bursting curl of flame towards him, towards where he lay on the ground, breaking. His screams joined his parents as he tried all that he could to rip apart the wagon, to get to them, to get them out.

It was far too late for that.

It was too late for him.

He couldn’t even stand up and get away from this satyr.

Even though he was a monster and deserved nothing better, he didn’t want to be someone’s plaything again.

Someone was talking to him, he thought. But the words were low and garbled compared to the piercing screaming in his ears, and Caleb couldn’t make out a single word. There was a strange pressure on his cheek, a wetness he managed to understand.

Caleb was crying.

Slowly he began to realize their surroundings were changing. They were moving to the edge of the field, towards a strange forest where the trees growing were more gnarled than they should be, twisted and purple trunks with teal leaves. The knots all made themselves into screaming faces. In the distance he saw strange glowing white orbs, beckoning.

They called to him in voices much quieter than the screams. Those glowing orbs would offer no solace, even if they weren’t a trap.

The screams took him again, fire filling his eyes and ash filling his lungs. He saw nothing but orange, dancing flames, taunting him, taking away from him everything he loved. The fire that flowed in his veins, more steady and more true than even his blood.

He was a monster, cobbled together out of brimstone and ash.

He didn’t know how long he’d been moving, but their surroundings changed again.

A strange, pink haired firbolg was standing in the doorway of an even stranger garden. Bioluminescent flowers and fungi grew around them in the cultivated space. Little blue mushrooms mingled with swirling pink and teal blooms. They were surrounded by tombstones that made Caleb’s stomach churn.

He knew from experience how hot his fire burned. When people burned in his fire, there was nothing but ash that remained. There would have been nothing to bury. Screams filled his ears and he tried desperately to focus on this strange man in the garden.

The firbolg looked at the satyr and then down to the little garden table with two floral pink and teal teacups. “I’ll go get another cup. And chair.” His voice was deep, gravely and grounding.

Then he was gone, and with him Caleb’s flimsy tether.

Caleb had nothing to focus on but the headstones, wondering if anyone would have bothered to make one for his parents. Ikithon probably would have covered it up. Three brutal killings of Caleb’s, Astrids, and Eadwulf’s parents all on one night would have been suspicious even to the small town police presence of Blumenthal.

Perhaps Ikithon would have managed to take the memories of their parents off the face of the Earth.

Even so, as their only living kin, it would have been up to him to have the grave prepared.

His parents didn’t have a headstone, and it was all his fault.

His parents didn’t have bodies anymore, and it was all his fault.

His parents were fucking _dead,_ and _it was all his fault._

Around him he could feel the pressure shifting as the satyr sat down in one of the pretty white metal garden chairs, fitting in well with the vine-like, gaudy filigree. “You back yet?” he asked softly, sitting Caleb in his lap and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Caleb blinked, beginning to stare back at the peculiar creature. His eyes were completely red, like nothing the human had ever seen. Earlier he hadn’t focused on them too closely, but now he latched onto the strange sight as a tether. Enough to form words.

"Why are you holding me?"

The satyr face spread into a wide grin, "Welcome back. I thought you might not want to sleep in a field, at least until you can figure out how to go home."

_Home._

"I have not had a home in many years." His voice was hoarse, though he knew he didn’t cry audibly anymore. You couldn’t do that and survive, not where he’d been.

"Well, maybe you can stay here with my friends. My good friend, the pink haired one, his house is quite small, but it's still nice and cozy with all three of us."

Caleb frowned, "You should not invite me into your home." He had no real desire to owe this fey creature a favor, and, as odd as the feywild was around him, he just wanted to be alone. There was no way he could deserve this kind company.

"And why is that?"

“I am a monster.”

“You don’t look like a monster.”

“Neither do you. Do you not believe you’re capable of terrible things?” Caleb felt small sitting in the satyr’s lap, trying to get the energy to be upset about something beyond what had happened eleven years ago. In reality the light pressure of being held, a calm voice from someone who didn’t seem like they were about to slice open his forearms, the warm air, it was all extremely pleasant.

He didn’t deserve any of it. Not after what he’d done.

“I look more like a monster than you do.”

Caleb swallowed. “Looks can be deceiving. You must know that.”

The satyr frowned at him but the firbolg returned then, carrying a mismatched wooden chair and another teacup. "This might not be as comfortable as Molly’s lap, but something says your emotional comfort level might be better over here."

"Fuck, right, sorry. You just looked so… empty," Molly said, still looking at him with a frown but letting him up.

Caleb almost snorted but it came out as a strange huff as he sat down in the chair with the dodecahedron in his lap and stared at the cup of tea the firbolg was pouring in front of him. He deserved no comforts. Of course he looked empty. 

The pink haired firbolg pushed the teacup an inch closer to Caleb, then held out a plate of pastries. "Scone? I've got some cookies inside too, if that's more to your tastes."

He mumbled his thanks and bit into the scone. It was a strange flavor, something Caleb had never tasted before, fruity but not too sweet. As soon as he started chewing, he worried about the wonderful fey food given in courts of the Feywild. Foods said to be so delectable that you never wanted to leave the courts, content to be nothing but a pet or a slave to the fey for the rest of your miserable mortal life.

But the scone was only vaguely pleasant. It was better than the awful cafeteria food at the Vergesson Sanitorium, which wasn't saying much. It was better than the pervasive taste of ash on his tongue.

This garden didn't look much like a Feywild court anyways. Bioluminescent flowers glowing in soft oranges seemed to reach for his slippered feet under the table, but Caleb couldn’t be sure as to whether that was a trick of the light and wind or something that was really happening. He didn’t put either option past this colorful, confusing place.

The odd firbolg gentleman didn't seem to feel the need to fill the silence, which Caleb was grateful for. Still, it was nice to not be alone.

It wasn't what he deserved, but it was nice all the same.

Perhaps at least he could learn something about this place. He turned to the firbolg, taking in the appearance of the new individual. The man was quite tall, at least a foot taller than he was. He towered over Caleb and the satyr, though he looked like a strong breeze might carry him away. Caleb could sympathize.

Quietly, Caleb asked, "Are you from here, sir?"

"This is my home, yes. My family used to live here, but now it's home to my friends."

Caleb swallowed sharply. It would be polite to ask about the firbolg’s family, ensure that they were okay or offer condolences. But his voice caught in his throat and he couldn't even say the word. He didn't deserve that word after what he'd done to it.

_Family._

"I hope you like the tea," the firbolg said, and Caleb was encouraged to take a sip. Under the table he kept one hand on the dodecahedron. The concoction tasted different than any other he’d had. Sharp and herbal. "That's the Merriweather family."

_Family._

"Excuse me?" He stared into the cup, looking at the few scraps of tea leaves that rested on the bottom of the porcelain. Small, dark, bitter. Ashy. He could taste ash.

The firbolg adopted a dreamy look, a pleasant smile spreading across his face. "Oh, we grow tea on some of the plots. Circle of life and all that. Rebirth, death, decay… Like we bury people, but we’re also healers."

Caleb's stomach churned and he wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. "That is very… poetic."

"I like to think so." The firbolg turned his soft smile directly at Caleb and he tried to ignore how his mouth now tasted of nothing but ash. “It’s not for everyone. I can get you something else, if you’d like.”

He shook his head quickly. Nothing would remove the ash.

Out of the corner of his eye, he believed he saw the satyr looking upset, but in an odd way. Pouting, almost like a child. “How come he’ll have a whole conversation with you but not me?” he mumbled, taking a scone from the firbolg.

“He has spoken with you too,” the firbolg shrugged, and Caleb was glad he didn’t have to defend himself. As interested as he might have been to interrogate a satyr from the Feywild once, the firbolg was much easier to talk to. Research escaped him for the moment.

They sat in silence a moment, and Caleb could feel the satyr staring at him. Thankfully the firbolg seemed to realize he didn’t want to be ogled and instead looked at his teacup. But what he said was more unsettling. “I could heal your arms, if you’d like.”

“His arms?” Mollymauk frowned, noticing the bandages for the first time, probably taking in the ruddy blotches on the pale coverings. “Are you okay?”

More staring. Caleb shook his head quickly, “I am fine.”

No more favors.

“You’re not fey,” Caleb mumbled eventually, rubbing his eyes since he couldn’t scratch at his arms without attention trained on him. They ached from the irritation of the earlier tears, and threatened to brim over again. His mouth still tasted of ash. “Are you?” he asked, cocking his head and trying to look more like a person than the fragmented shards of a soul he felt he was. 

The firbolg looked strange, emaciated and with peculiar pink hair that was shaved on one side. Perhaps he was an Archfey in disguise. Caleb had heard of that. But he knew a bit about the other magical races that lived alongside the fey here. “No, no, just me. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Caduceus, pleasure to meet you,” he extended a hand for Caleb to shake.

As Caleb was reciting his new name, unsure whether or not to shake the hand, Mollymauk started chastising the man, “Gods, Caduceus, what have I told you about giving out your name to strangers?” The satyr didn’t sound particularly angry, but still, fear gripped Caleb again. He knew the firbolg’s true name. They wouldn’t want him to leave now.

Caduceus answered, nonchalant as ever, as if nothing in the world had ever caused him any worry. “This is a human. Even if he is magical, he means me no harm if I show him the same.”

Caleb's stomach churned again. This man knew he had magic. He knew and now these two strangers would take him and use him for his powers. In his books, Caleb had read too much about fey creatures keeping magical humans as pets or slaves. 

Mollymauk’s eyes lit up, turning back to Caleb. “You have magic?”

“I need to go,” he said, standing quickly, trying to hide the panic in his voice and the tremor starting in his hands. His teacup clattered against the saucer, shattering the silence with the sound of porcelain scratching against itself in his shaking fingers. A splash of tea covered his fingers, wasted. _The Merriwether Family._ A sheen of sweat still clung to his brow and his stomach threatened to spill at any moment.

“We truly mean you no harm, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus said again, his voice as rumbling and deeply calm as ever.

Caleb just shook his head, feeling everything shut down to bring terror to the forefront. He had to get out of here. Gripping the dodecahedron tight he said too quickly, “Thank you for the tea, goodbye.”

He sprinted to the far edge of the woods, further away from the fields and trying desperately not to look at the headstones. Behind him he could hear the call of the satyr, and the soft reassuring voice of the firbolg. 

“Wait, don’t go _that_ Rest in Peace  
Merriweather

Caleb felt he couldn't breathe, gasping as he stared along the line of headstones and the large tea tree sprouting from the plot.

_Johnathan Merriweather  
Loving Father_

_Cleo Merriweather  
Beloved Mother_

_John Merriweather II  
Treasured Son_

Caleb's stomach flipped and he ran deeper into the trees until he was far enough away. 

_Family._

The dodecahedron slipped from his fingers and he doubled over to wretch. The scone forcibly exited his body, sour taste left in his mouth for a moment before returning to nothing but ash. His stomach still roiled angrily, but at least it was empty now.

There was ash falling from the sky.

He staggered away, ignoring how his vision was again eaten up by fire, knowing he had to move. Caleb needed to get away from the satyr, away from the bright red eyes that could imprison him again. The thrumming power that he'd felt from the so-called Mollymauk was too much.

Caleb was no pet, no slave.

Even if he might have deserved a miserable life of servitude after what he’d done, he could never submit to that.

He walked until his limbs collapsed beneath him and the night grew cold around him.


	2. Ash Doesn't Melt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb runs from Mollymauk and Caduceus, but wanders away from the territory of the Summer Court and into the lands of the Bright Queen's Winter Court. As he loses himself in the snow, he isn't sure if he ever wants to be found again.
> 
> But when has he ever been that lucky?

Ash landed on his skin, but didn't burn or sting. It was cold, wet.

Snow.

It was snowing.

Repressing a shiver, Caleb moved into the gnarled roots of a tree, curling into himself for warmth. The dodecahedron pulsed beside him, begging for close inspection, but he could do nothing of the sort.

He couldn’t even see that the further he had wandered into the gnarled forest, the colder it got. Gone were the lands of Titania’s Summer Court he’d read about in fairy tales as a child. Now, he found himself further into the territory of the Bright Queen’s Winter Court. A land of cautionary tales, trickster fey who wanted nothing but to trick you, steal you away, possess you forever.

Alone again, he felt everything shutting down. There was no cold. There was nothing but fire.

There was no hope for him.

Once or twice he thought he heard his name, his new name, being called.

Part of him wanted to call out, bring the voices closer. He didn’t want to be alone again. But another part of him fought to just summon Frumpkin instead, to help stave off the cold.

When he heard the crunching of snow close by, a completely different part of him won and he mumbled the incantation for an invisibility spell. He didn't have any gum arabic, but he had his own eyelashes and a hell of a lot of intention. It was harder to cast spells without components that weren't fire, but he managed. The voices called out for Caleb and he remained silent and alone. 

Caleb wasn't really there, after all. Bren was there, and Bren was on fire.

Bren deserved to burn, not to hide from his hideous past. He deserved no comforts, not from strangers and especially not from his familiar.

So he laid in the snow, invisible for a time, until the voices died out. He drifted in and out of consciousness, until something brought the real world back into focus.

"Doesn't even have pockets to pick, how the fuck did you get all the way out here? Poor bastard…"

This voice was closer. Much closer. Sharp, grating, hard to ignore, despite him not having heard any footsteps.

“What the hell is that thing?” the voice asked, and he felt a strange tug on the dodecahedron.

His eyelids fluttered open, lashes crusted with ice crystals.

"Holy shit, you're still alive," the owner of the voice lurched back, holding up her arms and looking panicked. "I didn't take anything, I swear. Please don't hurt me," the goblin girl was backing away carefully, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there. He was vaguely aware that the sun had risen and set at least once. Possibly twice. Was that cycle faster or slower in the feywild? Was there magic here keeping him alive? It was hard to decipher what was happening when every memory was overlaid with images of flame. It was daylight now, but still cold. 

"I have very little for you to take." His voice was groggy and stilted from lack of use, and probably more tears. His cheeks felt positively frozen.

Beside him was the strange dodecahedron, still covered in snow, and he could feel the cold metal of his necklace at his chest. No one could see him. He still had his bargaining chip.

"Well, you're right about that at least," she said, looking him over with intense scrutiny. "How the hell did you end up here?"

"I do not know."

She frowned deeper then shrugged. "I'm not one to judge. Do you want something to eat?"

"I do not deserve your kindness."

"I don't deserve a corpse on my conscience, that's for sure. It's not even good food, here," she said, shoving a small handful of jerky into his hands.

He stretched the fingers carefully, feeling the fire in his veins that was painful against the blue tinged skin. Staring down at the food, he sighed softly. Death should have come for him. He had no right to be alive.

Still, his stomach growled.

His body at the very least, wasn’t ready to give up yet. He could probably do it the courtesy of trying to eat.

"What's it made of?" he asked, unwilling to partake of more graveyard food despite how starving he was. It would only hurt more to have it vomited up later.

"Wolf, I think. No cattle out in these parts." The goblin girl hefted off her large pack and sat beside him on top of it to keep her feet out of the snow. "Eat," she insisted, brushing some snow off his shoulder.

He chewed at the meat, grateful for something but going slowly and hoping his stomach wouldn't reject this too. Even after everything, his body was fighting to stay alive.

The goblin girl cleaned the snow off him and sat him upright against the tree. She finished her jerky and took a big swig from a flask before passing it to Caleb. He took a sip, feeling the cheap whisky sear his throat, but enjoying the light warmth. It was dull in comparison to the fire in his veins. Slowly she wrapped a tattered blue scarf around his neck and head, brushing away the ice from his eyelashes like a mother wiping away a child’s tears. "Walk with me. We should find better shelter for the night. You look like you're frozen in place here."

He might as well have been. His joints crackled in protest as he stood, staggering and trying to catch himself. He landed right back against the tree, barely more upright than he was before. The little goblin disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a large stick for him to lean on.

"What should I call you?" she asked, clearly not fishing for his true name.

"Caleb Widogast."

“You can call me Nott," she said, nodding and walking slowly beside him for a few minutes. “Nott the Brave. There’s no comma.”

He nodded, unsure what to do about his new self proclaimed cowardly companion, and they journeyed on.

His body began to warm slightly with the movement, but still trembled with every gust that barreled through the gnarled purple trees. Caleb's fire might have kept him warmer than most, but this weather was getting worse by the minute. The deeper the snow got, the more saturated his slippered feet got in turn. His socks were quickly becoming a lost cause as well. He wondered idly if the fire running through his veins would completely prevent frostbite or not. Even a monster wanted to keep his toes.

“You’re still cold,” she said, like it wasn’t a question. It really wasn’t. The blustery wind was whipping past his cheeks and the snowfall was beginning to pick up. Soon his pants would get soaked too. “I forgot humans aren’t very well insulated. Hold on a minute, I think I still have something for that,” she grumbled, pulling off her massive pack that Caleb was realizing was at least as big as she was.

Caleb stopped walking, frowning at her, “What are you doing?”

Nott methodically started taking things out of the pack, which started off just as random items (a few shining buttons, some semi-precious worry stones, different colored threads on mismatched spools), but then shifted to things she shouldn’t have (canes that were bigger than she was, jewelry, watches, strange shiny trinkets). “I’m finding you something warm,” she answered as she set down a gilded statuette of a bear with ruby eyes.

Looking down, Caleb stared at the plain white clothes of the Sanatorium. “I don’t suppose you’d have plain trousers or something in there?”

“I’m afraid you might be stuck with the white for now, buuuuuut-” she grinned, pulling out a shabby, brown duster that looked beat to hell. “I grabbed this as a blanket before I found a good bedroll.” She patted the bedroll on top of her pack and tossed him the coat. Even though it was worn, it was lined with fleece and considerably warmer than nothing.

He pulled it on and rubbed his stubble covered cheek into the fleece, feeling a faint urge to purr like Frumpkin. Caleb still hadn’t summoned the familiar, though he knew the cat would make him warmer. Without any incense to bring him back, he needed to make sure he could trust this strange goblin girl not to hurt him. But with the coat, Caleb was much more comfortable, even before Nott triumphantly pulled out a beaten pair of leather boots. “Found them!”

“Those wouldn’t ever fit you,” he said, asking an unspoken question.

She shrugged, “Sometimes I just like to take things. Don’t complain, and trade me your slippers.”

“Deal,” he said easily, eagerly slipping his sock feet into the worn brown leather. What did he care? Especially if he had little to steal and nowhere else to go. It would make sense that the only company he would deserve would be a kleptomaniac goblin.

Now he was at the very least slightly more comfortable. And Nott's presence was nice. She demanded nothing of him, and he of her.

As dusk fell over the forest, they found a small clearing empty of snow from the wind. "I don't suppose you have a tent hidden somewhere?" she asked, mostly as a joke.

"I can start a fire," he answered, shrugging and showing a flame in his palm. The magic flowed through him easily, dancing in the swirling wind and fighting with the fading snowfall.

Nott swore, stumbling away from him. "You have magic?"

"Ja," he said cautiously, really hoping this didn't change anything. He let the flame flicker out.

She didn’t look like she wanted to take advantage per se, just excited. "Could you change someone's body into another body? Like permanently?" she asked, eyes wide and glowing in the flickering firelight of his palm.

He frowned, "Perhaps, if I got stronger. I would likely need help, as well."

She nodded quickly, “Well it’s decided then; I’ll help you get stronger!”

Caleb didn’t know what to say, but it seemed he didn’t have to say anything as she went on, "I have some magic too, but nothing like that. We can talk about it later. I'll set up the bedroll, you get some firewood."

He sighed softly, relieved she didn't seem to want to possess his magic. It seemed like she wasn’t the best liar in the world either, if his ability to read people hadn’t atrophied like everything else. She just wanted help of some sort, and she might even be running from the same things he was if she had magic as well. Well. Similar, not congruent. He doubted her reasons for being on the run were quite as horrific as his own.

Still, he got a big pile of the least frozen sticks he could find, arranging them beside Nott’s bedroll. With his underfed, frail state and her small stature, they easily slipped inside together.

"You're warm," she mumbled.

"I have fire inside me."

She hummed.

"I could do something else too," he said, still unsure how Nott would react but more trusting since he saw her reaction to his magic. That and he desperately wanted the familiar purring in his ear. He’d allowed some comfort back into his life; he might as well embrace what he had available to him.

She cracked an eye open, "Yeah?"

"Ja," he said, snapping his fingers and letting Frumpkin come to him again. The cat purred, instantly soothing. The fey cat could feel every ounce of pain Caleb felt, every aspect of what he'd done, and didn't care. Instead of abandoning Caleb as he should, the bengal cat started making biscuits on the top of the bedroll. He actually seemed pleased to be in his home plane.

Nott's eyes widened. "Can we eat it?"

"Nein. He will keep us warm. He is not a snack. If he gets hurt he will disappear in a puff of smoke, no flesh."

She nodded, eyes slipping closed again. "Warmth is welcome too."

Together the two of them curled into the bedroll, warmed by the fire and the purring fey cat as they drifted off into sleep.

The next day, Caleb woke again to voices. His new name being called, farther away, but still near enough that he shot upright. “We need to go.”

Nott rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “Why?”

“People I would rather not see again. They found out I had magic and started following me,” he said, hoping his new companion wouldn’t abandon him because of the danger. “A healer and some kind of fae. From the edge of the forest.”

She simply nodded, pulling her cloak over her head and packing up the bedroll. Her actions were quick and well practiced. Caleb started doing the best he could to cover up the burned sticks from their fire with snow. The clearing was still very clearly used as a campsite, but there was little he could do about that, other than get a head start.

Not knowing quite where north laid around him was incredibly disorienting, but today Caleb knew which direction to go. Away from the voices calling out his new name.

After they got started, the voices faded and Caleb felt like he could breathe again. Still, he and the little goblin girl walked from dawn until dusk, which felt much shorter than it should have been. But Caleb had no way of knowing exactly what time it was. The pocket watch that Nott had lifted from someone was broken, spinning wildly on occasion and then stopping completely.

“Are you headed somewhere in particular?” he asked Nott as they sat down for the evening before his fire, sharing more of the jerky.

She stared into the flames, ripping off a chunk with her pointed teeth. “Away from where I came. You?”

“Pretty much the same,” he mumbled, wishing he pointed teeth of his own. “I don’t suppose you have much more in terms of rations unless that pack is bottomless. How should we get food?”

She moved her cloak and patted a small crossbow on her side. “I can hunt just fine, and now we have fire. We’ll be fine.”

And, against the odds, they were fine. They made a formidable pair, with his fire and her crossbow bolts. Nott was naturally good at sneaking through the woods and making sure Caleb didn’t step on fallen branches, and Caleb knew enough about anatomy to be able to butcher and cook whatever they caught for their dinner with a crude spitroast.

Nott seemed happy with the food, and despite having no real seasonings and the game being stringier than ideal, it was the freshest cuisine either of them had enjoyed in years. Caleb wished he had his journal to take notes on the various animals they caught, each one so different than any he’d ever seen back in the Material Plane. Or just on the dodecahedron. Each night he peered into it, fascinated. Despite being unable to take notes, he could feel its power, helping him twist fate in small ways. He wanted to research it more, to write on it, to pick apart this idea in his head.

Eventually he expressed that desire, opening up slowly to Nott as he continued to enjoy her company, and she had gone rooting through her pack for a few scraps of parchment. With some of the charcoal salvaged from his fires, he made quick notes in shorthand about the strange twists of fate with the dodecahedron and each creature they found.

The icy wolves they attempted to fell were much stronger than they looked, and had far less meat than was worth it. The dire wolves they saw roaming were to be avoided even more so, the packs far too dangerous to the two smaller beings. That mostly left them finding the occasional squirrel or arctic rabbit out in the gnarled wastes of the Winter Court’s territory. 

But soon the strange hares they found further into the forest were getting larger than on the outskirts of the Summer Court’s territory (at least, that’s where Caleb assumed they were, as the further away from the strange firbolg’s cottage they went, the deeper the snow got), and their peculiar galaxy like pelts stood out in the snow, swirling and glowing against the snow.

They were quick, but Nott’s crossbow bolts were much quicker. Being able to scout them out with Frumpkin hopping through the trees made hunting increasingly simple. Thankfully, they became more plentiful in number and size, and for the first time in a long time, neither Nott nor Caleb went hungry.

“I’m glad I tried to loot your corpse, Caleb” Nott said as they were walking through the woods, smiling softly at him.

Caleb smiled back just as warmly. The few weeks they’d spent together had been more than what he deserved. At first he thought it fitting to be traveling with a goblin, but now it was clear that she was a better creature than he was too.

“I’m glad you did too. And I’m rather glad I wasn’t really dead.”

Nott hummed, hopping over a gnarled root and remaining silent for a while. “What is that thing, anyways?” she asked, not making eye contact so she didn’t trip as they walked.

“The necklace or the dodecahedron?”

“Well, both. But I mean the dodeca-whatever.”

He stared at the thing in his hands. “It is powerful. I don’t know its full capabilities yet. The necklace keeps anyone from seeing me, magically.”

“Those people back there, you mean?” she asked, frowning at him and almost tripping over a chunk of ice. 

Caleb caught her shoulder, righting her. “Nein. They weren’t that bad. I don’t even know if they had that kind of power.”

“Who then?”

“Bad people.”

She fell quiet again for a time, then asked, “The people you dream about?”

He swallowed. His nights had all been restless, keeping one eye open and trying to stave off nightmares. “Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

“I am not a good person, Nott.”

Nott stopped, frowning at him. “That’s not true, Caleb.”

“It is. You know very little about me.”

She huffed. “Well, the you _I_ know is a good man.”

Before he could argue that she hardly knew him at all, even after a few weeks that was slowly turning into a few months, he heard running. A human woman, faster than he could ever hope to be himself, whipped by him, “Owlbears, run!”

“What she said!” a half orc said, running behind her, but it was only a few seconds before he could hear the monstrosities crashing through the woods to reach them.

Caleb saw Nott shiver and vanish before him before he saw the owlbears barreling through the forest. They were closing in. They would reach the half orc soon, and Caleb as well even if he began sprinting. Fighting would be the only logical option, so he got out his bat guano and sulfur, jogging backwards as he took aim. Luckily he’d been able to find some in his travels with Nott. He could probably get three or four of them since they were running in a close formation. 

He said the arcane words and felt the fire glow within him as it found its point and the bright streak left his palm. The streak roared through the air until the explosion shook snow from the surrounding trees, a few of the creatures stumbling in their strides, but two were completely unaffected.

This was bad.

Around him whizzed crossbow bolts, finishing off one of the injured ones with a lucky bolt straight to the eye.

“Oh shit! He’s got magic too!” The other human was already doubling back, bo staff in hand that might have just been a whittled branch, but he wasn’t going to judge, not when she was taking down another one of the injured monstrosities. Not when the uninjured two were bearing down on him, unflustered by Nott’s crossbow bolts appearing out of nowhere.

But he was too close, and the monsters knew he was a threat. They knew he was a monster too.

There was on him before he could strike again, swiping across his chest and leaving a ragged tear in the white shirt from the Sanatorium. The red bloomed from underneath it and Caleb sunk to his knees. He could hear Nott shrieking from the shadows and saw two more bolts sink into the creature in front of him.

The half-orc had appeared too, some strange bolt of arcane energy surging from his hand towards the monsters. Nothing like Caleb’s fire, but interesting. Not that he could focus on much besides the fact that he would soon be bleeding out, or rent limb from limb by these monsters.

The pain hadn’t hit him yet as he fumbled for his cat’s cradle, the little piece of twine he’d taken from Nott.

This way he wouldn’t hit anyone but the monsters. Well. All the monsters but himself.

He spoke the arcane words and the beast in front of him fell. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, one of its kin sank it’s claws into his flesh yet again, knocking him to the ground.

A field of fresh white snow blooming with red flowers.

A searing pain, hot and angry, coming from his chest.

Caleb, Bren, whoever he was, would die here in the snow.

A monster taken down by a monster.

A fitting end, he supposed.


	3. Death Becomes Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb had hoped death would be quieter.
> 
> And much less painful.

“You got him fucking _killed,_ you _bastards!”_

“Fuck, don’t you have a healing potion or something?”

“Do we look rich to you, _lady?”_

“Hey, who the fuck are you callin-”

“Look, miss, we’re really sorry, but he didn’t even try to run-”

“They were faster than him, and he was busy saving your stupid lives!”

Caleb had hoped death would be quieter.

And much less painful.

Instead he found himself being carried for the second time in the Feywild, blood rushing out of the wounds left behind from the pack of owlbears that had chased them all through the woods.

He felt like he was floating, but the pressure against his back and the underside of his knees was unmistakable. Blood loss was nothing new to Caleb, but he was used to Ikithon refusing to let him die. This would be new.

“He said there was a healer chasing him. Hopefully they’ll actually want to heal him. Otherwise, I can just shoot them until they do.”

Nott was speaking to the two other people who had found them.

That was good. It was safer for her to travel in higher numbers, even if she could turn invisible. They could be a good distraction for her to get away. And they seemed kind enough to be willing to carry his body for her, at least until it got too inconvenient. 

Caleb wasn’t exactly sure when he started to care so deeply for the goblin girl, but he found he was glad she would be safe when he died. There was no way they would make it to the healer’s cabin in time to save him. Not with the way the half orc was stumbling through the snow trying to carry him, even though his small pack had been removed, given to the human. If Caleb wasn’t so sure he would die, he’d be worried. He’d want it back.

At least there would be a place to bury him there, though he deserved no marker. His parents had no headstones, why should he receive the luxury? Especially when it wouldn’t even bear his name.

He fumbled in his pocket for the copper wire, ignoring the stabbing pain and the half orc telling him he ought not to move, whispering to Nott instead. “If the firbolg wants to bury me, don’t let him give me a stone. Give one to Leofric and Una Eremendrud instead.”

Her eyes whipped over to him, wide and frantic, “You’re not going to die, Caleb. You can’t; I need your help! I need _you!_ Also I really can’t spell that.”

That was okay. He would be nameless in this land, lost to the Material Plane forever. Scattered to the wind like his parents ashes.

Caleb knew they wouldn’t make it. He knew that it was futile to try and cast the spell again, only succeeding in dropping the copper wire. He knew it was pointless for Nott to grab the wire and tuck it carefully back in his pocket. 

He could feel how the blood was soaking through his white shirt and probably the pants too, and how his heartbeat was beginning to stutter, growing weaker.

But the forest seemed to calm around them, warm breezes blowing through his hair as the trees made a path for their small party to return to the graveyard. The gnarled purple trees gradually went from being covered in snow to being covered in small blossoms. The human was talking with Nott, trying to get the goblin to calm down, and the half orc was trying not to let the exertion of carrying Caleb get to him.

Caleb wanted to tell him to leave him there, but couldn’t bring the words to his tongue. His eyelids grew heavy and he felt darkness beacon him closer.

“Mollymauk has been looking for you.”

His eyes flew open. This was a new voice. The words made his heart beat a bit faster despite how faint it felt. Despite how it would only kill him faster. The satyr had been searching for him. He wanted his magic.

The half orc was passing him to a new person, much taller, much more muscled. Even if he wasn’t on death’s door, he couldn’t have escaped her grasp without powerful magics. Magic he didn’t have the strength for.

All Caleb could hope for was to die before he could be made a slave.

But it wasn’t Mollymauk who met them at the door of the familiar home, it was the gaunt firbolg with his odd pink hair. He looked around at the group before approaching the tall woman who carried Caleb.

Caleb hissed, albeit feebly, as the firbolg laid his hand on the tattered remains of his chest, filling in the wounds with a bright pink lichen that crumbled away to reveal freshly unmarred skin. Perhaps the ways of the Feywild would be closer to Ikithon’s methodology after all. He wasn’t allowed to die. 

His shirt from the Sanatorium was ruined.

Good riddance.

Once his coat was washed, it would be salvageable. So long as he made it out of the grasp of this woman’s arms someday. Faintly he could hear Nott shrieking again, demanding to know where she was taking Caleb. He’d like to know that too as she ducked into the small cottage, still carrying him gingerly.

She spoke calmly and with great authority, insisting he needed to rest.

Caleb wanted his copper wire. He wanted to warn Nott, to tell her to run. But she knew it wasn’t safe. She knew he’d been running from these people. 

Nott knew that and still had brought him here, so he wouldn’t die.

Hopefully he would be allowed to return the favor someday.

But for now his limbs were weighed down with intense lethargy, and his whole body felt like lead. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. The woman took him into another room and sat him up on the corner of a bed, leaning on a tall bedpost. The room was an assault on his senses, and he began to wonder if he was hallucinating. Everything was a vivid color, shifting with his blurring vision. Tapestries and trinkets hung from the walls and the bed he'd been placed on was a garish patchwork of overlapping quilts and furs.

Compared to the bedroll he shared with Nott and his cot at the Sanatorium, he almost collapsed into sleep on the spot with the luxurious softness. But the tall woman was taking his coat. He tried his best to hold on to it and voice his protest, but his eyelids grew heavy even then.

Caleb was putty in her arms as she stripped off his shredded bloodstained shirt and boots. Soon he was tucked under the piles of blankets, too warm and tired to keep his eyes open for another second.

He dreamt of fire, like always, but there was something else there too. A hand winding through his hair, rubbing tears from his cheeks, a sweet voice whispering soft nothings in Sylvan in his ear. It wasn’t the woman, but he couldn’t quite place it in the haze of pain. The touch was too gentle, too familiar. He tried to shy away from it, to remember he didn’t deserve it, but in the tumultuous sea of flame he couldn’t help but to reach for it.

When he woke, the woman was long gone, but he wasn't alone. The room was brighter in the light of day, more color than Caleb had seen in what had to have been years. The tapestries held motifs that looked like they belonged in the circus or a fortune teller’s shop, suns and moons and goddesses in rivers. The trinkets all caught the morning light, sending little reflections and rainbows around the room.

The satyr was in the bed with him, also dozing. Currently he had his arm around Caleb’s, hooking them together with a hand resting on Caleb’s cheek. He moved back away with a start, hissing as the sensation of pain came back across his chest.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. You're safe." The satyr said quietly, blinking his bright red eyes open.

“What are your intentions with me?” he asked brusquely, his chest still aching as his breath heaved through him. A look down proved his whole torso had been healed, only light scars remaining, but it still bloomed with purple bruises, light enough to be almost unnoticeable in the dim light of the morning sun. Every move made him aware that it must be worse below the surface.

"I mean, not that I don't find you attractive, but you're only shirtless in my bed because my friend put you here. I didn't want to move you, and with the three other people you brought I couldn't exactly take the couch." The satyr propped himself up a bit, looking almost apologetic.

Caleb rubbed his brow, feeling a bit of a headache coming on. "Three other people?"

"The goblin, the half orc, and the other human?" The satyr cocked his head. "They carried you back here. Why did you take on a whole pack of owlbears? Hell, why did you run straight into the Winter Court's territory?"

He tried to explain quickly, his words strained from the residual pain. It would do him no favors to show weakness now. "They were too fast, and the human and half orc had already angered them. It was the only way to protect the girl."

"You fought owlbears head on to protect a goblin girl? Do you even know her? I thought you didn't know anyone here."

"I don't. We have been traveling together."

"So you'll travel with a goblin in the heart of the forest during winter, but you won't stay for tea?" The satyr was slowly emerging from grogginess, managing to look slightly pouty again.

Caleb sighed softly, falling onto his back to stave off the ache in his chest but still keeping as far away from the satyr as the small bed would allow. "To be fair she never tried to feed me a dead person. And she doesn't ask questions."

The satyr, Mollymauk Caleb remembered, said, "Ah, sorry about that. Caddy doesn't understand he needs to explain that to people first. He still doesn't even understand not to give his name to strangers. Never know if they're from the Courts, in disguise. But that doesn’t answer why you ran straight into the Winter Court’s territory?”

Caleb swallowed at the mention of fey creatures in disguise. The satyr felt more powerful than any of the others he’d encountered, even the healer and Nott, with their magics. “I did not know. I do not regret it.”

The satyr only frowned at that.

"What happens now?" Caleb asked softly, trying not to let the fear settle over him. He didn’t even know if the door was locked. He could be trapped already. There were no components here for him to try and teleport. He could attempt to do it without, but he wasn’t actually sure how he’d managed to bring himself to the Feywild at all. His only guess was that the dodecahedron had acted as a strange tuning fork. It belonged here.

Mollymauk shrugged, “You’re welcome to stay. No pressure though, so long as you don't almost die again. Or die for real. None of us want that. There’s some clean clothes that aren’t ripped and covered in blood for you in the bathroom. Caddy’s family enchanted the bath to run hot, so you could probably use that. No offense.”

Caleb looked at the grime covering his chest. Weeks out in the wilderness with Nott hadn’t helped the situation, but he was mostly covered in drying blood. “None taken.”

“Does it still hurt?” The satyr reached out, feather light, just carefully drifting his fingers over the new scars.

Caleb winced, more at the contact than the pain, though it definitely still ached.

Before he could say he was fine, Mollymauk, sat up more. “Sorry. I’ll go get Caduceus.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ll go clean up. Sorry about your bed.” Caleb stood, not expecting to be so wobbly on his feet and almost pitching over to the floor.

Mollymauk was there in a moment, keeping his knees from buckling with toned lavender arms that were stronger than they looked. “I can always wash the bedding. Nothing to worry about. Let me help you.”

_“Nein, ich…_ Mollymauk, I’m fine-” Caleb tried to insist, but the satyr was already leading him down the hallway.

“Molly, remember? We’re friends, yeah? And friends don’t let friends pass out on their way to the tub. Or in the tub for that matter. Are you going to drown? Should I keep an eye on you? I promise not to peek. Unless you want me to.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made Caleb's heart race, and not just from fear.

Caleb felt an unfamiliar rush of heat come to his cheeks. Before this moment he'd been too distracted to really take in the fact that Mollymauk was coming so close to him, touching him so gently, and carrying him places when he couldn't move. He had taken in factually that the satyr was attractive, in an ostentatious way, but nothing more.

He hadn't felt any attraction since Astrid and Wulf. Since before he broke.

He didn't deserve that kind of affection.

"If I cannot take a bath on my own, I might as well drown," he finally muttered.

The satyr sighed, "Gods above, you're gloomy. I'm definitely not leaving you alone if you're just going to drown yourself. Didn't anyone ever teach you that all life has value?"

"What if that life has taken lives? Too many to count?" he asked, though he remembered all of their faces. He could count them if he wanted to. But his brain wouldn't focus on one face at a time, racing and blurring them all together until he just felt the wall of his guilt.

Until he saw nothing but the adoring faces of his parents.

The screaming was back, somehow worse after the almost pleasant few moments of silence he'd had. As if they couldn't believe he'd forgotten them.

As if he could ever forget.

Vaguely he heard the satyr continue to speak to him, but couldn't understand the words. He couldn’t hear anything over the screaming. There was the sound of water rushing, but it was nothing over the crackling heat of his flames. There was the smell of soap and lavender, but it paled in comparison to the smell of ash and burning flesh.

He didn't remember stripping or the tub getting filled with some strange oil that colored the water a deep green and protected what modicum of modesty he had left. But he felt firm hands working shampoo through his hair, massaging lightly and getting the kinks out.

"Caleb? I'm not sure if you're back with me yet, but I'm going to need you to tip back your head. I don’t want to get soap in your eyes."

He tipped back, glad he was already flushed from the hot water.

Mollymauk beamed at him, upside down in his vision. "Welcome back."

This was not right. At this rate Caleb would be won over and made a pet before he even realized. He couldn't get lost in staring at how handsome the satyr was when he smiled.

Still, he couldn't help the low flush from creeping back up over his cheeks. It was probably just the hot water.

"I didn't peek, I promise. It was not easy to get you in there without though, let me tell you."

Well. Maybe not _just_ the hot water.

In a quiet voice, Caleb asked, "Why are you doing this to me?"

The satyr frowned, pulling back his hands. "Doing what? Am I hurting you? Did you hit your head too? Should I get Caduc-"

"I already told you I am a monster. That you should not invite me into your home. Yet your friend said you were looking for me. She brought me to your bed. What do you want from me? My magic?" He couldn't fathom much else. He was too scrawny to be wanted for his body, though perhaps he could do menial labor.

The satyr merely shrugged, continuing to pour water over Caleb’s hair. "Well you still haven't really told me why you think that, or raised a hand against me, so I don't see any problem with you being here."

He wanted to say it, to tell someone, he wanted someone to know what he'd done. He wanted someone to treat him like the monster he knew he was. But this fey creature was too dangerous to be divulging secrets to.

Caleb ended up shaking his head. "You're fey. You'd use it against me somehow."

"Hey, I'm no more fey than Caduceus. Okay well maybe a little, but it's not like I have powers like he does."

He blinked, looking up at Mollymauk again. "You can't feel it?" The satyr was infinitely more powerful than the firbolg. It made no sense for him not to know it.

"Feel what?" Molly asked, cocking his head as he set down the cup of water and went to set a few bars of soap on a small table near the bath.

He swallowed. "Your power?"

The purple shoulders shrugged, "I mean I can do some things. They're not very useful unless I'm fighting though."

At the mention of fighting, Caleb flinched, trying to move away and feeling a fresh ache move through his torso. It was as if the only thing keeping him stitched together was the firbolg’s magic. 

"Whoa, whoa, I'm not going to fight you, okay? I mean, if you took on a pack of owlbears, you'd probably be able to keep me off anyways."

This ridiculous creature thought _he_ was the powerful one. How did that make any sense?

"You think… What? Can you really not feel…?"

The satyr moved a bit around the tub, frowning at him straight on. "What are you talking about?"

"I… I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong," Caleb mumbled. He didn't want to anger a powerful fey, even if he seemed sincere. Especially when he felt like he might pass out from the pain alone. One blow to his torso would probably render him incapable of moving.

Mollymauk lifted his chin, staring at him. "Are you okay? Do you… Do you know me?"

Caleb was lost. _"Was?"_

"Sorry, sorry. It's nothing. I'll just… I'll just leave you, unless you need help?" The satyr stood up, looking halfways to panic.

"I'll live," he said, genuinely unsure if he could get out of the bathtub on his own, but never willing to say something that weak.

The satyr was backing towards the door. "Okay, yeah, just holler if you need something. Someone will… yeah."

"I… okay." Caleb was baffled. 

Mollymauk disappeared.

Taking a low, deep breath Caleb brought a little flame to his hands, reheating the water and enjoying how it took the dull ache away from his chest. He continued cleaning himself, getting the rest of the grime off and slowly trying to get to his feet. Though wobbly, he made it.

The bathroom was mostly furnished in a strange purple wood that made up the countertops, shelves, and beams. The rest was mostly clad in strange minty teal tile, and the huge clawfoot tub sitting in the middle of the room. Sitting on the counter there were clothes, and there was a host of strange creams and gels sitting near the hand soap. But what really caught his eye was the mirror.

Eleven years had not been kind to him.

His father's face stared back at him, but a gaunt haunted facsimile. Leofric Eremendrud, but ghostly. A man who had died eleven years ago. A man who was nothing but ash.

Caleb barely made it to the toilet before he started retching. It caused pain to rack through his torso from the owlbear attack, but the dull ache wasn't enough to ground him in the moment. Not when he knew that face would haunt him so long as he lived.

He laid there for twenty minutes before gathering the strength to do anything about the horror waiting for him in the mirror. But he needed to haul himself up and fix things before he wasted away on yet another tiled floor.

First he rinsed the bile out of his mouth, clutching the edge of the counter not to collapse. Fresh water helped ground him a bit more in the present moment. He was in the Feywild. He was alone. He had almost died. His father had been dead for 11 years. It was all his fault.

And _his_ fault.

Ikithon.

He grasped on to the image of the monster to muster the rage he needed, and in that the strength to begin to fix things.

Looking around he found a straight razor. He needed to get the stubble off. He'd only been shaved roughly at the Sanatorium, so a clean shave was welcome, compared to the strange shadow that was too close to Leofric’s smartly trimmed beard. In the weeks he'd stayed with Nott, his hair was getting longer, almost brushing his shoulders. That was fine, especially since he saw no scissors. And his father kept his hair cropped short.

He couldn’t face the mirror, again, but he could at least take solace in knowing the reflection would change slightly the next time he had to look.

Clean shaven and in clean clothes, he felt a little more himself. Well. Not that he really wanted to feel like himself, his old self. Bren shouldn't be able to enjoy those luxuries. Bren should be dead.

Caleb rubbed his chin, feeling some comfort in having his coat back. The blood had been removed, but all of his components were intact. That was good, he thought to himself, as he felt over the tattered fabric with shaking hands.

Even his bag was hanging on a hook in the bathroom, the dodecahedron lying untouched inside. He stared into it carefully, feeling its power wash over him before walking out into a small living room.

The furniture was eclectic, mismatched and with all different patterns. Most of it looked old and well cared for, covered in patches and throw blankets. The coffee table was overflowing with a tea set, scones and cookies sitting on a small three tiered tray alongside the same teapot from the weeks before.

"Hey, you're not dead." The human woman looked up from the couch, not looking like she was happy or sad about it either way, just surprised.

"Caleb!" Nott shrieked and latched around his leg, almost sending him toppling over.

He awkwardly patted her on the head, saying, "Hallo."

"That tall one didn't let me see you! She said you needed to rest!"

Caleb felt a smile pull at his lips. He almost wished he’d done a better job at rinsing out his mouth so he could kiss her forehead. "I think I still do, Nott."

"Oh, do you need the bedroll? Where's Frumpkin?" she asked, grabbing her large pack.

He scratched the back of his head. “I… ah, haven’t decided if it’s safe for Frumpkin.”

“Who’s Frumpkin?” the half orc asked from the couch.

Nott piped up, “Caleb’s cat! He’s magic.”

“Oh, like, a real cat?” Fjord suddenly looked concerned.

Caleb nodded. “Ja, he’s real.”

“Mind telling him to steer clear? I’m very allergic.”

Caleb shrugged. Frumpkin, if he decided it was safe for him here, was still a cat. If he roamed, he couldn’t keep an eye on him. “I’ll try my best.”

“Great,” the half orc sighed. “Oh, thanks for helping us out with those owlbears. We definitely owe you one.”

He nodded, “It was needed.”

“Still, you got taken out in like two hits.” The human flopped back down on the couch, leaving him to take what might have been a large armchair and what might have been a small loveseat. It was teal, like the firbolg Caduceus’s clothing.

He only shrugged, letting Nott pull him to sit in the armchair. "I don't regret it." If he had died protecting Nott, that would have been a good way to go. It could never make up for what he’d done, but it would have been more honorable than most things he’d done in his life.

She clambered up onto the arm of the chair, perching and rifling through her huge pack that was resting on a nearby table. Nott fed him some of their remaining rations, telling him softly about how everyone had been nice so far, other than not letting her see him. She didn’t think they were terrible, yet, even though she was eating their own food before anything they offered. Though the human and half-orc seemed unaffected. And it was warm here. She already looked a little less haggard then when he’d last seen her. It was good for her here.

Caleb just nodded as she spoke, eating what she gave him and taking a sip of water from her as well. He had nothing to say. There was very little for him to offer. With food in his stomach, he could feel a wave of exhaustion creeping back up again.

Despite just being a chair, it was very soft. Softer than the wintery ground he’d grown accustomed to. And with Nott lying back to rest on the arm of the chair, he felt safe enough. These people had bothered to save his life. He probably could trust them not to kill him in his sleep. If they wanted to kill him, it seemed like they’d have enough honor to stab him while awake.

As exhaustion took him, he’d have to take the chance.


	4. Jesters and Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb needs to meet Jester. Molly needs Caleb to smile. They overlap.

People kept carrying Caleb.

He was going to have to wear a sign or something asking for that to stop.

Perhaps a small bracelet with his blood type and a do not resuscitate/do not carry message would do the trick. But for now, he could do nothing.

The distinctive pressure came on his arms and legs as he was lifted up. _“Was ist los?”_

“I don’t speak… Material plane stuff,” a deep, feminine voice said.

He blinked his eyes open, seeing the dim light of the firbolg’s cottage and the wooden ceiling above him. “Zemnian. I asked what was going on.”

“You need to sleep in a real bed. To heal. Caduceus said.” It was the tall woman, carrying him somewhere again. He could hear the half orc’s deep voice in the living room, soothing a once again screeching Nott alongside the human woman. At least this time the tall one let him bring his bag.

“Yasha's right, you do need to rest,” Caduceus said, patting his shoulder as they walked past a small kitchen that smelled of fresh bread and some kind of roasting meat. Healing warmth flooded through Caleb’s chest and took away most of the residual pain.

Before he could protest he was back in the satyr’s bed, unable to fight the fatigue pulling him under. With no pain to keep him conscious, he was once again left to rest. His coat and bag were placed beside him, hanging on the gilded bedpost, and he slipped into fitful dreams.

Night visions full of fire began to torment him yet again. Without the grounding pressure of hard packed earth or snow against his back, he floated. He was no longer his own. Not truly Caleb, not truly Bren, just a monster. Parricide couldn't be forgiven, no matter his mental state. Ash filled his lungs as each breath smelled of burning flesh.

He was burning right along with them, unable to save them, unable to save himself.

He deserved every second of that pain. So when it faded the soft sound of protest that left him was confused. Calming words washed over him, a light accent he couldn’t quite place.

"Hush, dear. Nothing to worry about here.”

_“Lassen Sie mich brennen.”_

“You’ll need to speak common here for me to understand.”

“Let me burn.”

He still couldn’t tell where he was, cloaked in pitch black but feeling again a hand at his waist and one gently moving through his hair.

Slowly he began to remember all that had happened. He was likely still in the satyr’s bed, not exhausted or grounded enough to sleep soundly in his terrors.

"Now why would I do that? Especially when you're not on fire."

Caleb sighed softly, unable to keep his eyes from closing again as the hand methodically wound through his hair. "I deserve it."

"And what have you done to deserve burning? Do you think you're in hell or something?"

"I will be, someday. If there is a hell in that sense. I've taken too many lives."

The hand paused in his hair for a second before continuing. "You said that before, but you really don't strike me as the type."

"You don't know me."

"I suppose that's true."

Caleb fell silent, wondering if someone in this strange place would finally see him for who he was.

"Who have you killed?"

He could taste ash. "I thought... We thought they were all traitors. Even… He twisted my memories- He-He made me think…" His words were swallowed as the ash and smoke threatened to choke him.

There was a darker tone in the satyr’s voice. "Who?"

Caleb was trying not to spiral, but thinking about Ikithon was not the way to do it. He wanted to say his name, to give this fey creature Trent Ikithon's name and hope that he really was some horrible trickster that would steal Ikithon's soul. Caleb would gladly burn alongside that man in hell, if he could be the one to put him there. But he had no words, nothing but ash as the fire inside began to burn brighter. He scratched at his arms, expecting to feel the bandages and instead feeling his bare skin, layered with small scars. 

He hadn't been given clean bandages. Caduceus’s healing had taken away the freshest wounds, but the sudden sensation was too much. 

He was in a stone room, strapped to a chair, Astrid and Wulf restrained in the same leather straps on either side of him. Ikithon looked down on them all with disdain as he sterilized a scalpel and prepared the crystals.

He was weak. He was weak and he couldn't help but to call out from the pain.

The blood dripped down his arms, hot and sticky, as the broken twisted shards of blue green crystal were forced inside.

But there was someone else there, someone holding him.

That never happened.

No one ever held him in there.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don't have to think about him, yeah? Come back to me, Caleb."

That voice didn't belong. It didn't hurt. Bren, no-Caleb latched onto it, tried to make sense of the warring feelings of pain and being held close to something warm.

The satyr had pulled him closer, rubbing his back and mumbling soft things in common and sylvan that Caleb couldn't focus on as his breathing slowed. He wasn’t sure how much time elapsed like that, but when he could focus again, dawn was approaching.

"Take them out," was all he could say. He could still feel the dull ache from the splintering shards in his arms.

"There's nothing there but scars, Caleb."

He shook his head. It couldn't be. It hurt too badly. Every twist of his arm sent shooting pains down his body as the crystals’ jagged edges turned inside him. "Bitte, please, take them out."

"There's nothing there. Do you want me to wake Caduceus to heal you again? Do they still hurt?"

He swallowed. "Nothing?"

Molly nodded above him and Caleb took a breath to really focus on the moment. He was flush against Molly's chest, arms curled around himself as if he could hold together all his broken pieces by force.

"Seriously, if you're in pain, Caduceus can help."

He was back. He needed to work on that. It wasn't safe here.

Still.

"I deserve to be in pain."

Molly sat up, "No, you don't. No arguments on that. If you're really in pain, we're getting Caduceus."

“I am not in physical pain,” Caleb said carefully. It was true. He could see the last remaining scabs faintly, in the growing light on the horizon beginning to peek through the window. He hadn’t even been able to reopen them with his feeble scratching earlier.

He was fine enough.

"Okay, then, we're going to take a walk." Molly was suddenly sitting him upright too, shaking his head.

Caleb frowned. Somehow he'd finally broken down the satyr’s endless hospitality. This would be the end. "A walk?"

"You need to meet Jester. And I need you to smile. They overlap."

That wasn't what Caleb was expecting. He was expecting a death march. Not to meet some sort of jester. He wasn't sure he could laugh at a simple joke right now.

"I don't understand."

Molly shrugged, "Maybe a little confusion and trust is okay, yeah? No one has hurt you yet here, right?"

Caleb opened his mouth to protest then closed it. To his surprise he recalled that, no. No one had raised a hand against him since he arrived here. Only the owlbears and beasts in the wintery forest had seemed to recognize his true nature, monsters understanding another monster. It was incomprehensible but true.

The satyr broke out a winning grin. "See? We just want to help here. No tricks, no deceptions, ask a question and we'll answer. You're lucky you ended up here and not near the Winter Court."

Caleb watched as Molly stuck out a hand. "Just trust me a little."

He swallowed. Trust was dangerous. Trust got you killed.

The last people he trusted in had caused his entire world to burn to ash.

And yet he found himself taking the satyr’s hand, carefully memorizing the elated smile on the purple, tattooed face. He pulled Caleb upright and draped his coat over his shoulders, kissing the top of his head before pulling him outside the room.

Nott was still snoring though dawn was here, reclining in the small sitting room with the human and the half orc. Someone had given the goblin girl a pillow that was embroidered with shining buttons.

Perhaps Molly was right, and this place was truly good.

Or perhaps it would hurt all the more when they were finally revealed to be the monsters Caleb knew lurked waiting for him around every corner. Waiting to make him pay for what he'd done. Waiting to drag him back to the Sanatorium.

"You're going to love Jester. She's a riot."

Caleb hummed a soft acknowledgement, just to say he heard him, not fully understanding what was happening. They left the small house and entered the immaculately kept cottage garden. Strange flowers mingled with some samples he was familiar with from the material plane. But each seemed slightly otherworldly, bigger and brighter than any he’d seen before. 

Molly walked him through the graveyard, sticking to pathways and mumbling soft greetings to the graves they passed, kind and gentle.

"They cannot hear you," Caleb mumbled, before he caught his rudeness against the fey. But Molly’s hand didn’t twitch or waver, just continuing to pull him along.

"But if they can, they might like to." Molly shrugged.

Caleb had no answer for that.

Especially since he didn’t want to offend.

They walked hand in hand in the opposite direction Caleb had run weeks prior, the forest growing a bit thicker, more lush, but warmer still. Birdsong twittered as the light of dawn began to peek over the tops of the trees, melodic and otherworldly. Perhaps they weren’t birds at all, but small pixies and fairies, singing just out of sight. Under other circumstances, Caleb might have been tempted to stray from the path, but Mollymauk kept his hand and kept their course true. Not five minutes passed before they were at a small pond.

The grasses and moss around it were plush and a more verdant green than Caleb had ever seen. Most of the pond was crystal clear blue, but there were a few more marshy looking grasses around the edges, cattails and other reeds. Caleb could have sworn he saw a kelpie sneaking through, but the green coat of the water horse blended in too well with the reeds to be sure.

At least with Mollymauk at his side, he was probably safe. So long as the satyr wanted to keep him around, he would have some sliver of protection from errant fey creatures, despite whatever malevolent reasons he might have.

Stepping up to the edge of the pond and gesturing for Caleb to follow suit, Mollymauk sat right by the water, skimming his fingers over the liquid and letting the ripples shine in the early light of the dawn.

"Jester, dear, there's someone here to meet you. Are you still sleeping?"

A head appeared in the middle of the pond, dark blue hair clinging to the forehead as shining eyes took them in. "Yes, Molly, of course I'm still sleeping. The sun isn't even up yet! And I'm _naked,_ because I sleep naked, but something tells me your friend might like that." Her voice was light and teasing, full of mirth and altogether as unexpected as the fact that she had emerged from the middle of the pond.

"Well if he does, he has good taste." Molly only chuckled while Caleb was grateful for the ripples obscuring the woman's body with shimmering first few beams of golden sunlight. If only there was such cover for the blood rushing to his cheeks.

She grinned, "Let me throw something on and I'll be right over." Her blue skin caught the light as her legs kicked up into the air and she dove back underneath the water.

“Jester’s a nyad. Lived here forever. She can leave the pond whenever, but her mom likes her to stay close, most of the time,” Molly said, taking off his shoes and wiggling his toes in the water. “With guests at the cottage, she’ll probably come around more often.”

Caleb frowned at the motion, barely registering his words at all.

“Did… Did you not have hooves yesterday?” he asked, starting to question his infallible memory and his sanity all at once. It wasn’t the first time they’d failed him, and it made his mouth go dry.

Molly looked down at his feet, “I wanted to have toes today. They feel good in the water.”

“I see,” Caleb said softly, shocked at the display, but not wanting to offend, with Molly’s almost overbearing nonchalance on the subject. At least he was still sane.

Probably.

Sighing as he slipped backwards and rested on the soft grasses along the side of the pool, Molly said, “I can look like what I want. But I started out looking like this.” He flicked a long, thin, spaded tail towards Caleb as if to make his point.

“So… You are not a satyr?” Caleb asked, staring at the tail flicking back and forth and feeling the strong urge to summon Frumpkin.

“I don’t know what I am,” Molly said. “And I don’t particularly care.” The truth rang through the ridiculous statement, enough so that Caleb didn’t try to pry.

Molly said something else, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ll tell you a secret. Part of the reason I like being a satyr, other than the horns blending in, is not having to wear pants.”

Caleb really didn’t know how to answer that, but luckily they were interrupted before his brain started to put words together again.

Jester popped back up then, in a shining pink dress that was clearly not meant to be kept under water, but still looked amazing as she pulled herself out of the pond and sat in between Molly and Caleb. “So, how are you, Mr. Stranger?” she asked, a grin even wider than Molly’s. “Or Miss Stranger? Or Mx. Stranger?” Her accent, now that he was closer, was strange and thick, almost coastal.

“Caleb. Mister, out of all of those, I suppose, though such formality is not necessary,” he said cautiously, worried about offending her. She was fey, despite only being a nyad. And perhaps only half a nyad at that, since she appeared to have horns and a tail just like Mollymauk. But it was best to be careful with anyone with fey blood. Or fiendish blood. He wasn’t sure how to deal with a creature with both, as she seemed to have.

He was a reasonable amount of terrified, but her easy smile helped soothe his nerves just a hair.

“Perfect! I prefer ‘Miss,’ or just Jester. Or pretty much anything but Gene- oops, you're not supposed to know that!” she giggled, kicking her legs in the water so it splashed a bit while she laughed.

Caleb shuddered again at the thought of knowing yet another one of the true names of one of Mollymauk’s friends.

But Jester only frowned back at him, leaning closer, “You look pretty tired, Cayyyleb.”

The way she drew out his new name, along with her close proximity left him speechless.

Molly answered for him, and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not. “He almost died two days ago. Fighting owlbears.”

“Oh-my-gosh, are you an _adventurer?”_ she asked, eyes wide with excitement. Before he could even answer, she went on, “I think my dad was an adventurer. Is an adventurer, I mean. He was a handsome red tiefling. Momma doesn’t like to talk about him much though-”

 _“Are_ you an adventurer, Mr. Caleb?” Molly asked, leaning forward to look at him, past the sidetracked Jester and continuing to kick his toes in the warm water.

Caleb blinked. “I… I do not know what I am.”

Volstrucker. 

Scourger. 

Traitor. 

Broken.

They’d called Bren many things, but he didn’t know what he was anymore. He was no longer a loving son. He would never make his family proud, no matter what he attempted. What was the point? Was he anything more than a monster? Would he ever be?

Before he could spiral, Jester put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay, Caleb. You don’t have to be anything but yourself! I’m not anything but Jester! Oh, I guess I’m kind of a cleric, but I found out that my god was just this arch fey from a few fields over- Oh, never mind, you get the point.”

Caleb stared at her a moment. She was looking at him so expectantly. “I… Um. Ja. I suppose I am a wizard?”

“Oh, you can do spells too?” she asked, grinning wide.

He nodded carefully, though he kicked himself internally for offering up that information yet again. Someday, he was going to get himself killed or captured, for sure.

But today at least, Jester only clapped her hands together, “That’s awesome! I can do this!” With another clap of her hands a loud rumble of thunder shook through them, accompanied shortly after by tremors in the ground.

Molly just groaned, “Jester, as much as I love shaking my teeth out, can we not do the full minute?”

She pouted but relented, letting her hands fall to her sides. 

Caleb had relaxed a bit at the display already, once he realized the scale of her simple works. It was akin to what he’d seen Nott do, like sending messages or using an invisible hand. It was nothing like the terrifying power he could feel coming from Mollymauk. He stood a chance at defending himself from her, with the fire in his veins.

“So, Cayyyleb, do you have any fun stories?” Jester asked, smiling sweetly at him.

He frowned for a moment. “I know many stories. I’m not sure I’d call any of them fun.”

“Well, think harder! Molly never has any good stories,” she fell back into her pout, and he felt strangely inclined to actually tell her a story. Though he really couldn’t think of one.

Molly just laughed, “Well, it’s not my fault I was born two years ago.”

Jester just rolled her eyes and shoved him while Caleb tried to take in that information. While he didn’t understand the intricacies of the fey, he was pretty sure time was slower for them, as opposed to faster, at least in terms of maturity.

But he wasn’t going to argue with a powerful fey like that. Especially when Jester was looking at him expectantly, once she realized she couldn’t actually push Molly into her pond. He was too quick.

“I know some stories from books, from when I was little,” he said carefully.

Her eyes lit up, “Perfect! No one ever brings me books. Of course they usually get wet, but still.”

“You could enchant them to last longer,” he mused, thinking about the relatively simple enchantment. If only he had his spellbook. “Or, I could show you the pictures in a different way.”

“How?” Jester asked, and Molly beside her looked just as interested, even as he was trying to splash her discreetly.

“I might not remember how,” he murmured, suddenly worried about using his magic like this, but it really wasn’t more than a parlor trick. His gifts weren’t suited for grand presentations and displays. His magic was for destruction and chaos, not creation.

Picking at the inside of his coat, he grabbed a small chunk of loose fleece, running it through his fingers. He hadn’t really used this spell often, but he knew the basics of illusion magic. Intention flowed through him as he took a deep breath and felt the muscle memory return to him. He spoke the arcane words, feeling the magic flow through him, the first he’d done in days.

Jester gasped at the small image he brought up, of the little boy sick in bed. He continued to cast over the next few minutes, spinning the tale of _Der Katzenprinz_ for this peculiar nyad. She and Molly were a good audience, laughing at the right times, and gasping at others, though their enthusiasm was so extreme it almost felt patronizing.

Still, it felt nice to do something good with his magic. Like Frumpkin.

Perhaps today he would summon the fey cat. Mollymauk had pointed out earlier that no one had raised a hand against him here. He could probably trust them to at least give him enough warning that he’d be able to dispel Frumpkin.

He couldn’t help but miss the bengal cat after all, while staring at the cat in the little hat dancing around in his small image. It wasn’t perfect. Illusion was never his specialty, but it was passable when combined with his good memory. Some of the little puns didn’t translate as well from the Zemnian, but that didn’t matter much. Jester and Molly clapped happily at the end all the same.

“I told you Jester could get you to smile,” Molly said, wearing a beaming grin himself.

Jester squealed with delight, surging forward to hug Caleb, “That’s why you came here? To have me cheer you up? Why didn’t you _say_ so?”

He spluttered, unable to form words as she got him wet with the hug, all while Mollymauk started to cackle beside them. Jester just pulled back with a wink, whispering something to the reeds and plants below them.

Suddenly, Molly was wrapped around the ankle by some plant life from under the water, dragged underneath before Caleb could even blink.

Perhaps he shouldn’t underestimate this Jester after all.

Molly bobbed up to the surface a few moments later, pouting and looking all the part of a petulant child.

All the fear Caleb had melted away for a second and he started laughing. He’d chuckled softly with Nott a few times over the past few weeks, but this was more uninhibited. For the moment, he felt safe enough, allowed into this strange and beautiful space.

And Molly didn’t seem offended in the least, even when Jester began to splash more water on him.

It felt lighthearted. Fun. Something he hadn’t really enjoyed properly since childhood. These people were silly and carefree, and he reveled in the moment to share it with them. It was selfish, sure, but he could be selfish. Just for a moment, while Mollymauk looked ridiculous and drenched, all his curls plastered to his head.

Just for a moment, he could laugh alongside Jester and pretend he might be able to deserve this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> danke schön <3
> 
> comments & kudos are my serotonin
> 
> next update will be next monday


	5. Gardening is Good for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb and Yasha have a chat. Nott "finds" something special ;)

By the time Caleb, Molly, and Jester came back to the house from Jester's pond, everyone else was up, and Caleb was feeling more rested than he had in days. He felt as though he might actually be able to make it through the next few hours without passing out from exhaustion. 

The lights of Caduceus's small cottage were lit up, glowing with soft magic and the bioluminescence of the foliage. Molly had led him back along the pathway, hand in hand again, following along with Jester who ran around like an excited puppy on a walk. She stopped to look at everything from toadstools to pixies and seemed unable to walk in a straight line.

Caduceus was in the garden, Yasha nearby covered in dirt. “Good morning, you two. I was wondering why it was so quiet," Caduceus waved and stood up to greet them.

Molly stuck his tongue out as Jester made herself known, racing past Caleb and knocking him into Molly. “Caduceus!” she cried, a grin a mile wide splitting across her face.

“Jester, it’s good to see you,” he said, sounding just as winded as Caleb as she caught him in a bone crushing hug.

Helping Caleb upright, Molly mumbled an apology quiet enough that she couldn’t hear. “Gotta love her, but she is a force of nature.”

“Indeed,” Caleb said, trying not to blush at being thrown into Molly’s chest. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t found himself lying on it a few times in the past couple of days, but it still felt strange and foreign, just like everything in this peculiar place. Especially since once Molly helped him up, he reached out to hook their arms instead of just holding his hand, like Caleb might still be unsteady.

It wasn’t a ridiculous assumption, but it was still more than he was expecting.

Yasha stood from her place in the garden, quietly making her way over to them. Under her looming presence, Caleb must have tensed, since Molly leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry, she’s a gentle giant. And she likes you. Said she wants to make sure you don’t bleed out again, if she can help it.”

Caleb couldn’t help but tense up even more, partly from how close Yasha was getting, still looming over him at well over six feet tall, and partly from Molly’s warm breath tickling over his ear and the back of his neck.

But she just smiled warmly at Molly, reaching toward him. “Yasha, I swear, if you get dirt in my hair, I won’t snuggle with you for a whole week,” he warned, curling away as if Caleb could be the one to protect _him._

She just rolled her eyes, brushing her hand off on her gardening apron before tucking a strange bright blue and purple flower near Molly’s horn. He uncurled himself and beamed up at her, “What’s this one mean?”

“It’s a delphinium,” she said quietly.

Caduceus was somehow able to overhear, despite Jester speaking loudly about how much she missed everyone at the Blooming Grove, “Those are for joy.”

Yasha then turned to Caleb, with a pale flower in her hands, white all over and somehow spiky and soft all at the same time. She looked at his ear, moving her hand towards it very slowly, as if he might get spooked like a wild animal. “May… May I?”

He felt rather frozen, taken off guard by the sudden motion of kindness from this strange woman, but managed to nod. With delicacy he wasn’t expecting, she tucked the stem behind his ear, letting the flower rest against his hair. He was grateful he'd washed it yesterday before anyone touched it. Well, had it washed. He'd never forget how Molly's careful hands felt in his hair, not that he could forget anything.

Across the yard, Caduceus smiled at them. “A columbine flower. Aquilegia, for wisdom, strength, and happiness. A good choice. They can be a little particular, need a lot of caring for, and they don’t like too much sun, but they’re beautiful.”

Jester bounded over to him again, practically cooing, “Cayyyyleb, you look so cute with flowers in your hair! You should let me braid it into a crown some time!”

“Maybe later Jester,” Caduceus said, smiling knowingly at Caleb beginning to get overwhelmed by all the attention. “I think it’s time for breakfast.”

“Oh, I can help you cook! I want to make those scones, the ones with the blueberries!” Jester bounced after him, completely distracted and leaving Yasha and Molly alone with Caleb for a moment of peace.

The feeling in his gut twisted yet again as he was accepted into this world without a second thought, even though he deserved none of their kindness. But they just led him into the kitchen, and he was intercepted by Nott before he could spiral once more.

"I looked everywhere for you, Caleb!" she said, punching at him lightly in the thigh, which was about as high as she could reach. "Don't scare me like that again."

"Sorry, Schatz," he mumbled, ruffling her hair a bit. "I didn't know how long I'd be gone." He was still rather surprised that Mollymauk hadn't led him off the woodland path and let him get lost in the Feywild once more, alone to wander into a fairy circle or some other trap.

She nodded and led him to a seat in the kitchen. After climbing up on the arm of the chair she whispered in his ear, "I thought he stole you, but you look fine. I thought we didn't trust them."

"We don't," he said. And it was true. He couldn't trust fully, even if he did look fine.

Nott nodded, frowning at the food being prepared. “I’m almost out of our rations.”

“I don’t think they intend to poison us or trap us here like that, strange as they are, but we’ll wait for the other two to eat first,” he whispered in her large green ear.

“Affirmative.” She settled a bit with a plan in place and leaned against his shoulder.

Yasha and Molly made eggs and bacon while Jester and Caduceus started to bake and make tea, the entire kitchen full of life and warm bodies bumping into each other. Nott had climbed up next to Caleb, with the human woman sitting to his left and the half orc closest to the door. He felt a little cramped, but the confusion and sound gave him enough to look at that surprisingly he felt okay.

"Good to see you up and around, Caleb," the half orc said, smiling as though he meant it.

"Danke," he murmured. "I'm afraid I never got your names."

"You can call me Fjord."

"Beau's fine for me."

He nodded to them carefully accepting the cups of hot cocoa that Caduceus offered. “Nothing but cocoa and milk. Oh, and sugar I guess. If you were wondering,” he said as he handed it to Caleb. His expression showed some regret in how he’d served Caleb last time, so he was being much more careful now.

“Danke,” he bowed his head and smelled the drink, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of warmth this place exuded at all times.

This strange group worked together in a weird harmony, serving out teacups and plates of food for their guests. Everything was mismatched and most of it was chipped but functional. Beau insisted that she and Fjord help set the table, at the very least, and Caduceus seemed happy to oblige. As soon as they were finished, Jester hovered around the table again, insisting that everyone's teacup needed to match their personality.

As Caleb looked at his cup covered in orange roses, Nott's covered in green vines, and Caduceus's pink floral cup, and wondered if she thought their personalities were dictated entirely by hair color.

They were like a strange circus, all performing their special tasks.

Nott seemed right at home, chewing on a piece of bacon after seeing Beau not react badly to hers. The human woman seemed to like it enough that she tucked some in her pocket, winking at Nott. 

The little goblin girl nodded and looked over at both Beau and Fjord. “So what were you running from, before the owlbears caught up to you?” It sounded like she’d wanted to ask earlier, but had waited for Caleb.

Fjord shifted nervously in his seat, looking to Beau first. 

Beau kicked at the table leg as Fjord and the rest of the group turned to her. “I’m, well, from the Material Plane. You could probably guess that much. My piece of shit dad made some fucked up deal to get rich with a fey from the Winter Court. Some creepy old hag lady. That’s how I knew I could get here. He tried to force me to go to a boarding school, so I escaped and found my way here. Ran into Fjord and we’ve been running since.”

Caleb hadn’t really thought much about where another human would have come from, not since he first saw her back in the forest. “May I ask where you are from, on the Material Plane?”

“Kamordah,” she said, looking over at him, “you know it?”

“Ja, I’ve heard of it,” he nodded. “Never been there. Good wine, I hear.”

“The best,” she said, cracking a small smile and patting a flask on her hip.

Caleb nodded, accepting the bacon Nott pushed his way silently. After looking him over, Beau continued, “It’s good to see another human out here. Refreshing. Where did you come from?”

“A small town outside Rexxentrum,” he said, picking his words carefully. She had definitely seen his hospital whites, but Kamordah was far enough from Rexxentrum that she probably wasn’t associated with anyone at the Soltryce Academy. “I think I plane shifted after a time in an asylum. They were trying to heal me, I think,” he mumbled, really only loud enough for Nott and Beau to hear.

Beau seemed to understand his trepidation, looking to Nott, though her expression made Caleb think she might just corner him when they were alone, later. Still, she cut off anyone else from asking more questions by asking Nott, “What’s up with you?”

“I wanted to leave the goblin clan I was in. They were awful,” she said, shrugging. “I heard it was better in the Summer Court’s territory.” Caleb didn’t call out her lie, though it wasn’t a very good one. They’d been traveling deeper into the wintery forest when he’d gotten hurt and had to leave.

Caduceus, who seemed to be the most perceptive one, if Caleb had gathered anything in the past few days, said, “Well, you’re not quite in the Summer Court’s territory. This is the Sidhe, the hills that separate the two territories, though the winter is growing closer to the Blooming Grove every day.” He had distracted from Nott’s lie, starting a quiet conversation between the fae in the kitchen about the state of the grove. Jester and Molly seemed optimistic alongside Caduceus’s perturbed demeanor and Yasha’s general melancholy.

The others at the table seemed too distracted to call Nott out too, now looking back at Fjord.

He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair, “One of the Unseelie, not the Winter Court, but another powerful fey creature, saved my life. I worked in service to him but he was cruel and, quite frankly, terrifying. I escaped, but I thought anywhere in the Winter Court’s territory wouldn’t be safe enough.”

Surprisingly, Yasha seemed to look a bit shaken at the story, ignoring the others in the kitchen talking about the Unseelie Court. Caleb wondered if her own story was similar. She certainly didn’t seem like she was from the Summer Court.

She asked quietly, “What was his name?”

“Calls himself Uk’otoa, big tentacled thing. Why?” he asked, looking just as shaken that she seemed to want to know.

But her shoulders dropped, clearly relieved, “Ah, just wondering.”

So another Unseelie fae creature was after her. Perhaps this place was just as dangerous as Caleb thought, for different reasons. Hags and Unseelie fae were not to be trifled with. But if everyone here was just looking for a way to escape something bigger, perhaps it would be safe to take respite with each other. There was definitely strength in numbers after all. 

The conversation devolved into more talks about how to protect the grove, and Caleb focused on finishing his food. It was fresher and better prepared than anything he'd eaten in weeks, and he was struggling a bit with how rich everything was. But the rest of them ate leisurely and there was no sense of a rush while he ate slowly.

After breakfast, Caduceus approached Caleb. Nott had already gone outside with the human to practice with her crossbow and throwing daggers. Yasha had disappeared somewhere, Fjord was discussing some of the political matters of the two courts with a rather bored looking Mollymauk, and Caleb had been zoning out, still at his seat in the kitchen.

“Do you have plans today, Mr. Caleb?” Caduceus asked, a warm hand on his shoulder. For once he wasn’t sneaking in any healing magic, which meant Caleb really was on the mend.

He looked up at the firbolg. “Not particularly. Can I help around the house or something? I feel as though I’ve been taking advantage of your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” Caduceus insisted. “We’re mostly wanderers ourselves, but we know the value of a safe place to stay. I won’t keep you from helping though, if it would make you feel better.”

“Ja, I think it would,” Caleb said, still unsure how to accept all this kindness.

“Well, follow me then. Yasha’s already outside I think.”

Caduceus led him into the garden he’d first had tea in, and Yasha was indeed finishing up pruning a rosebush near the graveyard out back. She vanished into a shed with a bucket full of the dead branches and dried blooms and emerged again with a wheelbarrow of compost, piled high. Managing to balance with one hand she gave a small wave as Caduceus led Caleb through the garden paths and to the small potting shed.

“It’s good for you to create something,” Caduceus said, handing him a small pack of seedlings, each resting inside a small wooden crate, the little green sprouts bursting forth from soil piled in egg shells. “To help something grow. Why don’t you plant these over in that bed there, where they’ll get lots of sun?”

Caleb looked at the box now in his hands, unsure. His mother was the one with the green thumb, though his father could manage if necessary. He'd only ever been sent to pick weeds out of the vegetable beds. “I don’t know how.”

“Well, I’ll show you the first few,” Caduceus said, kneeling down beside him and showing how to dig the little holes a few inches apart. He didn’t use gloves or a shovel, just moving the soft earth with his large hand. “Now you try.”

Caleb did just as he’d seen Caduceus do, though his hands weren’t as steady and practiced, but it looked fine enough. Caduceus smiled at the plant and patted Caleb with his clean hand. “That’s nice. Just do that with the rest of them. They’re alyssum so you can spread them out just like I did. They’ll grow little white flowers and smell like honey later in the season.”

He nodded, looking down at the plants. The sprout seemed to wave back at him in the light breeze. It was pleasantly warm here, unlike out in the winter forest. His thick coat was forgotten inside in the midday heat and his component pouch was more easily accessed this way.

It was comfortable.

Soon Caleb had planted an entire row of perfect, evenly spaced little plants, all symmetrical and perfectly parallel to the small stone wall around the garden bed. There was something satisfying about it all, the perfect little sprouts all blowing lightly in the wind.

Yasha came up behind him, clasping a not too dirty, not too clean hand over his shoulder. “It’s good for your brain, you know. The soil. It releases happy chemicals.”

Caleb blinked. “Happy chemicals?”

“Caduceus knows the name for them,” she shrugged. “but I know it makes you feel good.” 

He looked at the little row. It felt like he’d accomplished something. Something constructive, something beautiful. The opposite of the destruction his hands were normally good for. “I suppose so.”

“Come on, I’ll show you where the watering can is.” She offered him her large hand, pulling him to his feet and leading him to the garden shed. Her terrifying strength was more evident when she did that, but Caleb just remembered Mollymauk saying she wanted to keep him safe as he followed her in the dark little shed. There were more egg shells filled with soil here, the first little spots of green beginning to poke up through the dark brown dirt.

Unimpressed, or at least used to the sight, Yasha walked right by them and unhooked a large watering can from the wall, hooking the handle over a small spout and turning on the water until it made a light pattering sound against the metal.

“You look like I did, when I first met Molly,” Yasha said quietly as the can filled with cold water.

Caleb blinked, looking up at her. “What?”

She turned to look at him, her different colored eyes more noticeable in this dim light. One was so dark it looked black. For a moment she was quiet, collecting her words. “You look… haunted. But it's good here. They’re good people.”

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, almost quiet enough that he couldn’t even hear himself.

But Yasha turned back to him and handed him the full watering can. “Neither do I. Come on now.”

She left him in the shed, leading the way back to his seedlings.

“The watering can is gentler than the rain Caduceus can make. It’s good for the seedlings. They need the gentle soaking from one of us to grow their strongest.” She spoke while looking over his work, nodding in approval as he started his careful watering. “Caring for things is good for you. You care for the girl, Nott?”

“I do,” he said, not needing to clarify. He cared for her wellbeing as well as literally taking care of her. And she took care of him.

Yasha hummed, picking some of the dirt out from under her fingernails. “I care for Caduceus, Molly, and Jester. It helps. They’re worth it.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that. “It helps?” He still wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. She didn’t know him.

“Helping people helps. It’s like… tipping the scales. Making some balance in the world, compared to the people you’ve hurt. Or worse.” She picked off a bloomed out rosebud without any gloves, hands tough enough not to draw blood from the spikes.

His heart lurched. “Mollymauk told you?”

“No,” she turned back to him. “I just said; you look like me.”

He almost dropped the watering can. His breaths came a little sharper and she frowned a bit. “I won’t… I’m not really good with words. But I think I understand. It’s good here. Too good for us, but there’s not much we can do about that, other than being better.”

Caleb swallowed, still looking up at her in a bit of a panic.

“I’m just-” she crushed the dried rose in her hands as they nervously balled up, “I’m gonna go.”

And she left.

Caduceus had disappeared somewhere else and Caleb was alone and lost in his thoughts. Slowly he sank to his knees, curling in a ball and trying to think.

He should leave.

Why was he here at all?

It wasn’t like any of these people could actually help him. He was beyond help.

He was lost and these people, these whirlwinds of color and warmth, had found him and now he wanted to stay.

How was he supposed to deal with that?

He stood up and walked in the direction of the Summer Court.

Caleb got about ten paces before sitting back down under a tree. With a careful look around, he determined it safe and summoned Frumpkin to his lap.

He didn’t want to leave.

He didn’t deserve their kindness or their help, and he didn’t have a real plan. But still, he wanted to stay.

The moss covered tree was where Nott found him hours later, holding two small sandwiches and sitting beside him. “I brought lunch.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“And you’re good to me. Now eat. You got too skinny not eating for a few days.”

Caleb took a slow bite, still rather full from breakfast. “I’m always too skinny.”

“You got worse. Eat.” She had eaten half of hers already, speaking with her mouth full.

He took another bite. It was good, some fresh greens and sliced tomato with some thick spread that tasted bright. Caleb wasn’t expecting it, used to sandwiches made with heavy meats and cheese, but it was nice. It felt like he might actually be able to eat the whole thing.

“Caduceus has a little library. Beau’s been in there all day, if you want to join her and read. I know you said you missed that.” Nott picked at a loose button on the cuff of his shirt.

Caleb nodded slowly, ripping off the button and handing it to her. “Ja. That sounds nice.”

He hadn’t been able to sit down and read a book since before he broke. It would be a nice escape for the afternoon, though it made him ache for his spellbook. The loss of it still felt like a phantom limb, leaving him with little more than cantrips and Frumpkin. But none of the other spellcasters he’d met out in the Feywild were trained like he was. Fire was easiest for him to remember, given that it was the hardest to forget, so he was able to defend himself. But little else came naturally to him.

“Oh, and I stole this for you,” she said, rifling through her pack that she still carried everywhere and pulling out a small drawstring bag.

He frowned at it, turning it over in his hands. It had a low thrum of magic to it, but he couldn’t quite tell what it was. “Where did you get this?”

“There was a weird man in the woods, and I nicked it from him,” she shrugged, unashamed of her habits as a thief. Caleb wasn’t particular himself, so long as she was safe.

He opened it up and looked inside, startled to find it empty, though it felt full. “Huh.”

“I can’t figure out how to work it. But it’s magic, right? You can feel it?”

“I can,” he murmured. “There are strange enchantments that allow for bigger space on the inside of a bag, though I’ve never seen one this small. Do you have your crossbow?”

“I do! Is it safe?”

“Most likely. Things cannot breathe within demiplanes like this, and whatever was inside had to be able to fit through the opening.” Caleb still felt cautious as he prepared to turn the small pouch inside out. His fingers thrummed with his own magics, the fire in his veins eager to escape at the first sign of danger.

Onto the grass tumbled a pile of gemstones, pearls and diamonds, and then a few other strange things: a scrap of fleece, a piece of leather, some various vials of powder. There was also a black marble, lots of chunks of obsidian, more gold dust than Caleb had ever seen, and other things he couldn't identify right away. Onto the top of the pile fell a stack of high quality paper and Nott’s hand grabbed a small bottle of ink before it crashed to the ground.

Nothing inherently dangerous. But definitely dangerous in the right hands.

“This is a component pouch,” Caleb breathed, looking at it all. Some were things were for spells he didn’t recognize, and others were bits that he could identify as components for much more powerful spells than he was able to cast. “From a powerful wizard. It’s good you gave it to me, in case they tried to track you.” His necklace would keep it safe, like the dodecahedron hanging in the bag around his shoulders.

Nott nodded solemnly, “You’re so smart, Caleb. I was hoping it would be more spells for you or something. He looked magicky enough. Is it still useful?” Her hands twitched towards some of the gems.

“Ja,” he said, thumbing through the beautiful stack of paper. It was even nicer than he needed, almost opalescent in the sunlight. “Ja, it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Keeping the paper in hand he wrapped Nott in a hug, too weak to make it as bone crushing as Jester but still making her stop and mumble at the sudden affection. “I’m glad it’s useful.”

“Danke, Nott," he said, placing most of it back inside while mentally cataloguing everything he saw. Many of the gems were of little use to him, so he gave most of them to Nott, watching her eyes glitter and shine at all the new little bobbles.

She grinned wide, helping him and standing up, “Of course! Now let's go get you set up in the library.”

He let her take his hand and followed her back inside. He let her lead him to the small room full of books and set him up on the desk with his papers. Carefully he began to transcribe the find familiar spell from memory, enjoying the warmth of Nott leaning against his shoulder on the arm of the desk chair. Mollymauk had shown her how to affix some of her stolen buttons to things and she was making a colorful rim of them along the hem of her cloak. The button from his shirt was the next in line.

Beau was splayed across the couch in the room, sitting in a ridiculous pose as she read through the book on her lap. She'd grunted some sort of greeting when they arrived, but was unconcerned with their presence so long as they weren't loud. It was quiet and calm, and Caleb didn’t want to leave. And with the paper in his possession because of Nott, he could convince himself to stay, at least for tonight. Even if he didn’t deserve the kindness and warmth here, it was useful for him to stay, to have a place to safely transcribe what he could remember.

Just for now, he would stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! comments=serotonin
> 
> this story updates every monday <3

**Author's Note:**

> the story will update every monday!!
> 
> kudos & comments directly supply serotonin to my brain <3


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